Dealing with Ghosts
by chibiness87
Summary: Some people go out with a whimper, but i went out with a bang. CD WARNING! GSR


**Dealing with Ghosts **by** chibiness87**

**Rating:** T (one or two cuss words.)  
**Genre:** Angst/Tragedy **CD!!  
Pairing:** GSR  
**Length:** 1798 words  
**Spoilers:** Nesting Dolls, A La Cart, Case of the Cross Dressing Carp, Goodbye and Good Luck  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** Um… yeah… I uh, I wrote another CD story… and I wanted it posted tonight, so it's not beta'd.

* * *

I was never one to believe in an afterlife. 

Not really. Growing up it was a nice thought; when you die you go somewhere better. Of course, my childhood isn't really the best example to use; anything would be better than that.

No, I was more of the "You live, you die, that's your lot" school of thought. It made my life more fun to live anyway. If you can only live it once might as well try for the unattainable.

Sometimes, it even works out for you.

So yeah, like I was saying, I was never one for believing in an afterlife in the "off to a shiny heaven" way.

Or reincarnation either really.

If I was going to come back as a different species, I hope it'd be something six-legged… at least them I'd still be of interest to Gil. He was more of a believer in all the afterlife stuff anyway.

Not me.

So it came as a great surprise when I woke up one day to find I was dead.

Now, you have to understand, I didn't get up in the morning and think, _Hey, I think I'll die today_. Death really was not part of my plan for at least another 40 years. But apparently fate or whatever had a different idea in mind, and decided to blow up my crime scene.

With me in it.

Some people go out of life with a whimper, but I went out with a bang.

Unfortunately it was the house I was processing at the time which was the cause.

Kinda messy… I'm actually glad I don't have to explain to the council and the lab what an utter fuck-up the while thing was.

But I do feel sorry for Brass. After all, it's not every day you have to tell pretty much your best friend their wife died. Not something I could ever do.

I was there when he told him. Sort of floating off to the side. I had been standing in front of Gil, but then Brass had walked through me, and yeah… that was freaky.

I always wondered what being out of phase would be like. I'm guessing it would be something like this. I don't walk along the ground so much as float about 6 inches above it. Still, at least I'm not falling though the floor.

Because that would be a whole new level of weird.

Where was I? Oh yes, explaining to Gil I was dead.

I never thought much what it would be like to be dead. After all, if you don't really believe in an afterlife there really isn't much point. It's not like you expect to be able to feel anything, or sense anything either.

So having to face not only the fact that the frigging house _blew up _ on me, but then having to deal with the effects of leaving everyone else behind… yeah, it was kind of a shock.

I knew Gil would take it hard. It was impossible for him not to. When I took that half year out before we got married to lay my ghosts to rest, I came home to find him almost a shell of what he once was.

Huh… this sounds crazy, but now that I think about it I guess I did believe in some sort of afterlife. Or maybe just the idea of souls looking for a place to rest… which I guess is kind of the same thing.

Or maybe I thought it wouldn't happen to me.

The ghost/afterlife thing… not the dying thing.

After all, death is one of the two certainties of life.

I'm quoting people when I'm dead… if Gil could hear me now he'd probably be oddly smug. That's his little idiosyncrasy, after all. The quote thing, not the dead thing.

The dead thing is mine, now.

In an odd way I'm glad I was the first to go. Because I don't think I could ever deal with someone telling me the person I would walk through fire for was never coming home. And thinking of that makes me glad Gil and I decided against kids. Because I don't think any of us would be able to explain to a child what was going on.

* * *

My funeral was interesting. 

A load of people coming to talk about me. It's odd to think what people will say about you when you're dead. My collage roommate was quick to tell anyone who would listen I was a great pal and someone she could tell anything to.

This is the same person who told me sex in an airplane bathroom was a must on spring break to be considered cool.

And also tried, weekly, to get me to do her reports for her so she could party.

My boss from San Francisco made it. The first person to have little workaholic me to contend with. I never knew I was everyone's go-to person when they needed help on a case.

I do recall being told I would be covering for other people at the lab. Not that I minded all that much back then. After all, it wasn't like I had a family to hang out with. My mother was still in jail and god only knows where Mike was at the time.

But he at least made it to my final hurrah. Sat in the back of course. Never one to draw attention to himself. Not after that last time, the night before _it_ happened. The scar from where the plate smashed against his cheek is still visible, if you know where to look for it.

But it is the eye patch that gives him a distinct look.

I remember him saying he always wanted to be a pirate when they brought him home from the hospital, the patch covering what used to be a functional eye, but never would be again.

The guys from the lab are in attendance of course. Even Hank. (The dog, not the two timing git from years ago.)

All sombre. Quiet.

Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen Greg so quiet, not even when he had the whole disposition case to deal with.

So after standing around listening to a bunch of people I hardly know and a few that I do talk a load of crap about what a wonderful person I was, I stand back and watch as my coffin (with presumably all that is left of me after being blown to bits!) sides into the incinerator, leaving a nice pile of ashes in a pot.

It isn't until I see Gil's hand shake as he reaches to pick me up I realise I don't like this any more.

I mean, to begin with, it was fun. The whole "Huh, well that sucks!" part was over pretty quickly. I was never one to follow rules, so I skipped a few stages of grief. Acceptance came pretty quickly, truth be told. After all, when you see what was once a building in that state, and then see your body come out in a body bag, you pretty much accept that, yeah, you're dead.

Finding out there was an afterlife was kind of fun too. It would mean I would get to keep an eye on my family. Not the people related to me by blood. Well, maybe I could at least know where Mike was half the time. No, I mean my real family.

Gil and Hank, the boys and Catherine. Because, really, they are my family.

Cheryl the preppy roommate has spotted Gil now.

"So, where was her family today anyway? They couldn't make it? Wouldn't surprise me really."

I _knew_ there was a reason I hated her…

My heart is going out to Gil. Because of everyone except Mike (who I spot leaving by the back entrance) Gil is the only one who actually knows about my family. And of course Miss Snippy has asked that question in the tone of voice that makes everyone else stop and look around for an answer.

But it seems my dear husband has had enough of her high-pitched whinging tone, blonde hair and breast implants.

"Actually, they are." He leaves her, muttering something about forest and trees as he does so, leaving "I'm-so-wonderful" standing alone once more.

My husband, ladies and gentlemen. My knight in slightly tarnished armour, still coming to save me from the wolves.

I'm feeling guilty now. I don't want to leave him. And yes, I _know_ I didn't plant the bomb that blew me up, but, still, I hate that he has to go through this.

If my leaving for 6 months made him a shell, I don't want to know what forever will do to him.

There are times I wish the dead could speak to people. Preferably without them freaking out. Because then I could ask the guys to keep an eye on him. I could get Catherine to help him, even when he swears blind he doesn't need her help, thank you very much, and could she just leave him alone to think?!

* * *

I'm waiting for him on the couch when he comes home a couple of weeks later. He is still in our home, still with all my stuff out. He can't bring himself to go through it, not that I can blame him. If our positions were reversed, I couldn't go through his stuff either. 

Only, this time, something is different.

He has a box of video cassettes with him. And a bottle of scotch.

It takes me a couple of seconds to realise he has our wedding taped. And other various moments of our lives together. Going all the way back to when we first met.

I didn't know at the time, heck, didn't know until years later that a couple of his lectures had been taped for future use, or some other such thing.

All I do know is that I'm laying here, wishing I could hold Gil close to me, while he flicks through the various stages of our life together.

Pause. Rewind. Play.

Stop. Fast forward. Play.

Stop. Rewind. Play.

I sit and watch, tears pooling, as the pony-tailed 24 year old grows up and becomes the slightly curled 36 year old makes her way down the aisle to Gil.

It's telling that all my good memories are on these tapes as well as his.

As the day moves on, the tape continues.

Play. Stop. Rewind.

It is on the 10th viewing I make up my mind. I will wait for him, for as long as it takes. And when he joins me here, we will make a new tape of memories. Ones which will go on forever.

* * *

END 


End file.
